Page 19 of Between a Duke and a Hard Place (The Honeywells #1)

Chapter Eighteen

V iolet hesitated. Not out of fear of Max, or even fear of the unknown, though that was certainly present. She hesitated out of fear that she was giving so much more of herself than simply her body. Max had the ability to break her heart and the closer she allowed him to get to her the more likely an outcome that would be. But the alternative, of never knowing his touch, of never experiencing what it would be like to be loved by him, to finally know what passion and desire truly meant—could she deny herself that?

Forcing herself to relax, to give him the access he demanded, she allowed him to part her knees. The feel of his fingertips skimming along her inner thigh, moving ever closer to the part of her that no one had ever touched, had her holding her breath. But when he reached the apex of her thighs, his large hand covering her mound there, she was unprepared for the onslaught of sensations that erupted within her.

It was wanton, perhaps. But was it wicked? They were married, after all, even if it had come about under unusual circumstances. And what if it was wicked? What was wrong with indulging in a bit of wickedness if it hurt absolutely no one?

She was at war with herself, wanting alternately to open for him entirely and let him do as he pleased. Another part of her wanted to shield herself from him, to hide from all that he evoked within her. But then he slid one finger along the seam of her sex, parting her gently. Suddenly, all thoughts of hiding were simply eradicated. He touched her in a way that compelled her to seek more.

The tip of his finger traced delicately over the most sensitive part of her, that light touch seeming to send a shower of sparks through her body. Her eyes closed, her back bowed even as she lifted her hips toward him, eager for his touch. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, desperate for an anchor as she felt she was losing herself entirely in that moment. But it was not an entirely unwelcome sensation. Being swept away by passion, by pleasure, but the unbearable intimacy of being touched in such a way, not by anyone, but by him, by the man for whom she had experienced a decade of yearning and longing.

“Max, I do not know what to do,” she admitted.

“Then do nothing, Violet. Let me take care of you, let me please you.”

“But what about your pleasure?”

He smiled down at her. “Giving you pleasure is my pleasure… for now. We’ve no need to rush. Not when we’ve waited so long already.”

She nodded. Unable to form words as he continued to touch her, to stoke the unbearable tension building within her. It was as if she were climbing to some dizzying height, some unknown precipice. Then, without warning, she tumbled. The pleasure swept through her, wave after wave, her body shuddering and rippling with it. It was not at all like what she’d read about in the few romantic novels she’d managed to sneak away with. It wasn’t at all like what she’d heard maids whispering about. It was so much more. It was magical. It was primal. It was all-consuming.

Before the last shudders had faded, he’d moved, positioning himself between her thighs. She understood, in theory, what would happen next. Perhaps it should have frightened her, but it did not. There was only curiosity and need. Because while the pleasure he’d already given her was beyond anything she might have imagined, the knowledge that so much more awaited her was too powerful to ignore. And too tempting.

Max clenched his teeth, steeling himself against the need he felt to simply bury himself inside her, to ease the ache that had been omnipresent for so very long. Taking his time, no matter the cost, he entered her slowly. He watched her face, taking note of every shifting expression, of any indication that he might be causing her pain. But it was Violet, after all. Bold. Audacious. Fearless. And she did not shrink from him. She met him with all the courage and audacity that he had always admired in her. That, if he were entirely honest, he had always loved her for.

Thoughts of such fine and tender feelings faded under the onslaught of desire, of driving need. When he was fully inside her, he paused, just for a second. Just long enough to gauge her reaction. But there was no hesitation in Violet. No reticence. She welcomed him eagerly, parting her thighs more fully. One knee hitched higher on his hip. When she did so, a gasp escaped her, her eyes fluttering closed as an expression crossed her face, transforming her into the very vision of ecstasy. It was the end of his patience, the end of his ability to maintain any semblance of self-control.

The slow and gentle pace he had intended was lost, discarded. Together, they strained against one another, finding a rhythm that had them both hurtling toward blissful release. When it claimed them, in unison, the sound of muffled sobs of pleasure echoed in the room and gradually faded into silence. A silence that signified how much everything between them had altered irrevocably.